


Clumsy Returns

by ricochet



Category: Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-29
Updated: 2005-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricochet/pseuds/ricochet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tezuka and Echizen meet up seven years after junior high at the American Open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clumsy Returns

The first year Ryouma won the U.S. Open, he was fifteen, and it set a tournament record. Tezuka was in his last year of high school at Seigaku and did not play. Ryouma was seventeen the first time he played Tezuka in a grand slam tournament, and that was at the Australian Open. Ryouma lost his title that year and was denied three consecutive years of Grand Slam sweeps.

This year at the U.S. Open, Ryouma was nineteen, Tezuka was there, and they never got to play each other, because Tezuka blew his shoulder in the quarter finals on the other side of the draw. Ryouma was too mad to speak and took his own quarter final match silently in straight sets. The rest of the tournament dragged along terribly, and Tezuka was never where Ryouma could see him. Whether or not Tezuka was avoiding him on purpose, Ryouma was unsure. He reclaimed his U.S. Open title in a hard fought, brilliant game of which he didn't remember much afterward.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Clumsy Returns

 

 

The last of the reporters were escorted out of the locker room by security, still calling questions and flashing cameras at him. The lack of shouting in the room was not actual silence, but it certainly felt that way to Ryouma. He wiped his towel over his face again and looked at the trophy beside him as it gleamed in the fluorescent lights. Running his finger down the side of it left a dull line on the silver, and for a long minute, all Ryouma could bring to mind through the retreating adrenaline was a trophy that didn't look anything like this one. A trophy on which he had never had a chance to leave a mark. A faint sound from across the room made him look up and scowl, wary and irritated at being caught playing 'what if.' Tezuka was standing just inside the entrance from the courts.

 

Ryouma's scowl intensified. Tezuka was approaching him slowly, and Ryouma was unsure if it was because Tezuka was worried about startling him, or if it just hurt the other man to be moving at all. He could see the bulk of some kind of brace underneath Tezuka's jacket, and part of the sling that held his wrist tight to his body was visible through the open zipper. Tezuka's left sleeve hung limp and empty at his side, and the sight of it triggered a shift in gravity that sent Ryouma's head reeling.

 

Tezuka stopped a couple of feet away. "Echizen."

 

The word that rose to mind in reply was swallowed back with the bile provoked by the sight of that empty sleeve. He hadn't called Tezuka captain for years, and he was not going to start again now. He didn't mean to say what came out next, either.

 

"I told you not to lose."

 

"Yes," Tezuka said. "Congratulations on your victory." His eyes were on the wall behind Ryouma, and his voice stayed as level as a heart monitor on a corpse.

 

Ryouma knew that tone of voice very well. He remembered it perfectly from any number of conversations, and he hated it more than just about anything. It was the way Tezuka sounded after he had been hollowed out of everything except duty, or when he had accepted as fact some theory that was only going to make him miserable. It was how Tezuka sounded when he told Ryouma 'No.'

 

He should say thank you, Ryouma thought dimly through the rush of blood in his ears. He should congratulate Tezuka on a well played tournament. He should say long time no see, or it's been a while, or suggest they go catch up. It had been months since they had last seen each other, after all. Ryouma stood up and stepped forward until Tezuka was within easy arms reach. When he spoke, his voice was softer than he had planned, and he stuttered as he had to remind himself again that Tezuka was not 'Captain' to him anymore. "Bu- But are you satisfied with this?"

 

Tezuka met his eyes then, and his reply was as level as desperation could make it. "No."

 

The sound Tezuka made when Ryouma kissed him had nothing level about it at all. Ryouma did not know if he made any sound himself, and it stopped mattering as soon as Tezuka kissed him back.

 

Every time they did this, Ryouma expected something to have changed. Even something as innocuous as Tezuka using a different brand of toothpaste, or mouthwash, or something, but Tezuka's mouth always tasted like Ryouma remembered. It was true this time as well, and Ryouma knew he should have given Tezuka a chance to get his glasses off, but he didn't pull back. He licked at the inside of Tezuka's mouth, nipped at his tongue and buried both hands in Tezuka's hair so he could press just that little bit closer and hold on at the same time.

 

Tezuka's good hand was on his back under his shirt, and he could feel Tezuka's fingers digging into the muscle like the worst massage Ryouma had ever received. Both of them were breathing hard when Ryouma began moving backward, drawing Tezuka with him by the grip in his hair and the tongue in his mouth and whatever it was that made this a semi-regular occurrence. The back of Ryouma's thighs hit the table he'd been aiming for, and it was quick work for him to be sitting on the edge of it, pulling Tezuka closer with his knees as well as his hands.

 

The change in position meant Ryouma was just a couple of centimetres taller than Tezuka, and it put enough space between their bodies for Ryouma to let go of Tezuka's hair with his left hand and start decimating the fastenings on Tezuka's clothes instead. Ryouma pulled back enough to steal a quick breath, to lick the corner of Tezuka's mouth and bite his bottom lip, and then he kissed him again, and it all felt spun together in his head so that Ryouma wasn't sure if he was stopping and kissing Tezuka again or if it was just more of the same kiss. He felt Tezuka's hand fumbling with the button on his shorts even as he yanked open the ones on Tezuka's shirt and pulled him in to close that small distance again.

 

If he thought he'd hated the sling before, that was nothing to how angry it made him to have it shoved against his chest. Tezuka made a small noise in his throat that had no more place between the two of them than the stupid sling and pulled out of the kiss, but he didn't move away. His hand found its way around Ryouma's waist again to rest warmly on the skin of his back.

 

Ryouma glanced at Tezuka, whose glasses were smeared rather badly but still miraculously in place, and dropped his head gently to Tezuka's injured shoulder. He could feel stiff plastic and padding of some kind under the cloth. Ryouma's left hand was still on Tezuka's skin where his shirt had come open, and Ryouma could feel Tezuka's pulse racing under his fingers. Finally, he released Tezuka's hair and let his right hand settle beside his cheek, resting on the brace he could feel but never wanted to see. He had to swallow twice before he could speak.

 

"How bad is it?"

 

Tezuka let out a long breath that was not quite a sigh, and he relaxed fractionally as his head came to rest just as gently against Ryouma's left shoulder. Ryouma didn't hear him swallow or otherwise gather himself, but it felt like a long time before Tezuka answered. "This is the last time," he said. "If I push it any further..."

 

The sentence trailed off, and Ryouma was glad not to hear the rest of it. He didn't bother asking what Tezuka's doctors thought. They had wanted him to quit two years ago. Both of them were silent for a moment, and Ryouma couldn't tell which of them was shaking, or if he was just cold.

 

"I wanted to play you."

 

"Not for the last time," Tezuka said into his shoulder. "A hollow victory would only have made you angry." He straightened and raised his good hand to stroke the side of Ryouma's face until Ryouma looked at him again. Then he smiled.

 

Ryouma looked at that smile for a long time, and he could see the grief in it tucked under the satisfaction of games well played and straightforward pragmatism. There were no other options. He didn't smile back, but his next kiss was gentle, and he brought his left hand away from Tezuka's throat to curl their fingers together against the side of his face.

 

"Guess you're going to be doing things right-handed for a while, huh?" he said.

 

He knew there was mischief glittering under his words when Tezuka adopted a more stern expression. "For a few weeks, yes."

 

The expression on his face was just a bit smug as he stole Tezuka's glasses carefully off his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. "You're kinda clumsy right-handed," he said as he folded the glasses closed and set them aside.

 

Tezuka blinked twice and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

 

Ryouma made a little humming noise of agreement and moved their joined hands slowly down his body. He stopped when he reached his waistband and flicked open the button on his shorts. "You couldn't do that earlier."

 

Tezuka smiled again, and it was still a small and grieving thing, but a touch of wry humour had found its way in as well. "I was distracted," he said.

 

"That was careless of you," Ryouma murmured. He craned his neck to kiss the corner of Tezuka's eye and then the edge of his mouth. "I'll help you practice, though."

 

Ryouma smirked and wrapped their twined fingers around his cock. His breath caught in his throat, snagged by the touch of their hands or the edge of hunger in Tezuka's eyes, and he let his head fall back with a groan.

 

Tezuka kissed him hard and quick on the curve of his jaw, on the ridge of his cheekbone, and then he finally closed their mouths together with an almost desperate sound Ryouma hadn't heard in a very long time. It occurred to him in a blurred rush that the doors were probably unlocked, the press was still outside, and if someone walked in right now he still wouldn't stop moving Tezuka's hand over him. He kissed back harder and changed the pace of their strokes to long, firm pulls down his cock and back up. Needy heat was curling through him with a sharp ache, and he wasn't getting enough air. He tugged at Tezuka's collar with his right hand and broke the kiss to breathe.

 

Tezuka pressed another kiss against his temple and flexed his fingers against Ryouma's own. The touch was clumsy against his skin, and it made the ache twist inside his eyes so that he had to squeeze them shut. That part, at least, was different. The brace shifted as he laid his forehead on Tezuka's shoulder once more. Tezuka was breathing hard against his ear. It could have been his name, or it could have just been air.

 

Ryouma turned his head and closed his teeth on the curve of Tezuka's neck just below his ear. The skin under his lips was smooth and thin, and he sucked at it as if to draw any flavour it held inside himself to keep. Tezuka's pulse filled his mouth, strong and fast against his tongue. Ryouma tightened his grip on Tezuka's hand, speeding up their touch and moving into every stroke. He could hear himself making a rough sound that was almost a growl, and he felt Tezuka shiver through every place they touched. Tezuka's fingers moved in his again, clumsy and graceless against his skin, and Ryouma bit down harder and came all over their hands.

 

The last shudder of orgasm made its way down Ryouma's spine and left him still on the table. He let go of Tezuka's neck, first with his fingers and then with his mouth. As he pulled away, he could see two bruises on the skin, one from his thumb and the other from his teeth. Ryouma grinned and licked the second bruise so he could feel the dents under his tongue. He trailed his lips over Tezuka's jaw until he could kiss him again. Tezuka was still moving their hands on him, almost petting, and it gave the kiss a slow hunger. Ryouma let the kiss end and brought his forehead to rest on Tezuka's. The last of the tension in his shoulders bled away, and most of it seeped into Tezuka like the stain setting into his shirt.

 

"Twenty-one," Ryouma said without opening his eyes.

 

"Aa."

 

"It's too young to retire."

 

Tezuka shuddered once. When he spoke, the last of the satisfaction was gone, and his voice was full of frustrated grief. "It's better than fourteen."

 

That bit of truth ran through Ryouma like muscles tearing and strangled his voice in his throat. "Tezuka," he said, and if it sounded like a title he hadn't used since he was fifteen, neither of them cared. He brought his right hand between them and slid it carefully under Tezuka's open and disarranged jacket. Gently, he curled his palm over the padding and straps of the brace. "Tezuka," he said again, breathy with all the words he did not have. Instead of speaking further, Ryouma simply kissed him, hot and thorough as he undid Tezuka's pants left-handed and closed faintly sticky fingers over his cock.

 

Ryouma kept kissing Tezuka as he stroked him, in part because the chance to kiss Tezuka was something he had been missing for more than three months, and in part because if he was kissing Tezuka, he didn't have to fumble for words about a cabin in the mountains near a lake full of fish. Kissing Tezuka let him avoid thinking about pretty much anything at all. So Ryouma kissed Tezuka, and he kept kissing Tezuka, and he kept not thinking as Tezuka kissed him back, as Tezuka shuddered in his hands and clung to Ryouma's back with his good arm as he came.

 

The kiss trailed off after a long moment, and Ryouma opened his eyes to watch some of the desperation leech out of Tezuka's expression from inches away. Tezuka's slowing breath on his throat made Ryouma shiver. His own pulse was calming enough that he could hear the whir of the building's air conditioning again and the sounds of people moving in the hall outside. It occurred to Ryouma that he still needed to shower and attend the end of tournament press conference. He shifted to glance at the clock and scowled.

 

"We should go," said Tezuka.

 

"Doesn't matter. I'm already going to be late." Ryouma felt Tezuka shift as he straightened, but he stubbornly refused to let go. The movement brushed the sling against his arm, and he looked down at it. Gingerly, he placed the fingertips of his right hand on the fabric just above Tezuka's wrist. Vertigo tripped back through him in a rush of fear, or anger, or some combination of both. "How long is this for?"

 

Tezuka kissed the top of his head and Ryouma closed his eyes. "As long as necessary," he said. Then he took Ryouma's hand off his body and laced their fingers together. It was messy and clumsy, and it loosened at least some of the constriction in Ryouma's throat. "You need to shower."

 

Ryouma looked from their hands to Tezuka's eyes. There had to be a way, he thought, to put something else between them now that tennis would be something he did with other people, but he couldn't think of anything that could fill that space, and he didn't have the words to ask.

 

"Yeah," he said. "I'll see you after the press conference."

 

"Yes," Tezuka said, and he stepped away without letting go of Ryouma's hand.  


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

At the press conference, Ryouma was distracted and more curt than usual in his answers. The reporters bombarded him with questions about this drop shot, or that smash, or the closely fought, final set that gave him back his U.S. Open title. Ryouma answered mostly with stock replies and clichés. He thought he said something about his opponent being pretty good and most of the game being a blur of adrenaline, but he wasn't sure.

 

On the ride back to his hotel, Ryouma stared out the window and wondered if the day the record books forgot Tezuka Kunimitsu was going to be his fault.


End file.
